


Itches and Stiches

by Blakpaw



Series: My Undead Junker Boyfriend™ [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Farmer Mako, Fire, Hayseed Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes, Hayseed is here, Junkrat attacks some pepole, M/M, Maybe some Scarecrow kissin' later?, My Junksons don't know how to deal with things very well, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Some Elderlies drinkin' coffee at a tiny Cafe, cus this is taking a lot longer to get all the answers then I had originally thought it would, emotional issues, sad death, we shall see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2018-12-10 04:05:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11683662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blakpaw/pseuds/Blakpaw
Summary: Mako doesn't want to say good bye.But maybe he doesn't have too, yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good bye.

Mako wants to quit, he really really does. But, every time he’s seconds from just giving up and throwing the towel in he’s always reminded of why he does this. He remembers that Jamie is practically still a kid, that it’s not his fault he’s growing old and tired of the violence.

But he’s got a job to do, his original duty to protect his younger counterpart, and his personal job, to teach Jamie, to love him, to provide some semblance of emotional stability that Jamison had been without for decades.

Today is one of those days.

He’s tired, he tells himself he’s done, promises to Jamison be damned, he just can’t do it any more. Today was another near death experience he’d rather have done without on the battlefield, he didn’t care if Overwatch provided stability, a home, a place where Jamie was really beginning to be comfortable. He was gonna quit, he swore, he was gonna leave, he was just gonna get on his harley, with or without Jamison, and just drive and drive and drive until he would just disappear off the map.

He’s angry, and usually everyone knows to avoid him like this, with his shoulders squared and his fists clenched tightly, stomping loudly down the halls. He’ll calm down eventually, think about this all rationally later, but for now he’s acting on impulse. So, when he’s approached willingly by Mercy he knows something's up, it’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, and if it had been anyone else they would've already been lobbed over his shoulder, not to say he’s a few moments away from doing so anyways.

And then he sees the look on her face, she looks… guilty, almost. There’s pity there too, and Roadhog grunts at her in question and she pauses before handing him a medical envelope.

“I’m sorry to break it to you this way, Roadhog, but I fear you're not calm enough to process this information face to face with the… problem.” she states, speaking as calm as she can, and she turns and walks away. He grunts in aggravation again, opening up the medical file and viewing the inside content. He has to pause, Jamison’s name is located at the top of the file, it’s a medical file, and as he reads lower and lower and suddenly he’s not angry anymore.

He’s terrified.

He’s terrified and his best friend is dying.

He drops the folder and runs to the medical bay, any locked door is shoulders down, he’s an unstoppable force, up until he reaches the room. And suddenly he can’t move any more. Jamie’s laying on the bed, half awake, an IV in his arm, his eyes are red, and swollen, his hands are trembling, and for once he’s clean of dirt. He’s got fresh bandages wrapped around his torso, and he looks up at his partner with those big orange eyes of his, and he smiles crookedly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.  
“Hi Hoggy.” there’s no quip, no flirt, no joke. Just a simple hello that sounds to quiet and to tired and to bland. And yet they will him to move again, his lumbering form slow and gentle as he takes a seat beside him.

They always knew Jamie was probably going to get sick like this, was going to catch something, or have Cancer sneak up on him. He’d just hoped it would of been a lot later in life, that Jamie would of been able to out live him. He picks up his hand gently in his gigantic palm, and softly engulfs it. Jamie smiles at it, and sighs, weak and tired.

Three days. Mako had only been gone three days on the mission and Jamison had gone from healthy as a Junker could be to dying, with jaundiced eyes and a nose that’s starting to bleed.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the fog of his heated breaths obscure his vision, and he has to lift the mask to see the other properly. There are suddenly hundreds, no thousands, no millions of things he wants to say and he can’t form the words fast enough. He wonders if this is what Jamie usually feels.

“Don’t cry, Roadie.” his smaller companion mummers, slowly drawing his hand away from the larger man’s to press his minuscule in comparison fingers to Mako’s face, gently brushing the tears away. He smiles at him, stroking his cheek in small circles with his thumb “Ya should be glad, mate. Ya ain’t gonna have t’ worry ‘bout me much longer.” it’s meant to be a joke, as if it makes it all better, and it doesn’t, it makes it hurt worse, makes him curl closer, wrap his arms around his frail companion and cry a little harder.

He wants to tell him he’ll miss him. Wants to tell him everything will be okay.

He wants to tell Jamison how much fun he’s had over the years.

Instead, he softly presses his lips to his temple, and that one move tells Jamison all he needs to know, and he gently presses his forehead to his chest.

“‘S alright, Mako.” he murmured, tiredly, “Jus’ promise me ya won’t let ‘em just put me in tha ground. Make ‘em send me off ‘t the stars ‘n a million bits ‘n bobs.” he chuckles gently, his hand dropping down to curl next to his had. Mako nods, “Promise.” he mutters, cradling him close.

He’ll make damn well sure everyone will remember Jamison “Junkrat” Fawkes for the rest of eternity. He’ll carve his name into every mountain if that’s what it takes. He strokes the tiny head under his hand, lets Jamie fall asleep there, with his good ear pressed up against his chest.

Mako never wants this to end. He wants to do all of this forever, if it mean he doesn’t have to say good bye. He never wants to say his goodbyes.

\--

He does what Jamie asked, he gets Winston to build him a small rocket, and they fit the rip-tire to it like a wreath, and set a timer after the blast off for it to go. He lays Jamie’s pale little form inside of it, curled up in the fetal position, and instead of putting flowers inside of it each member puts something of home made device inside of it, some more shoddy looking than others, each a final goodbye to their comrade, some look more artistic than others but each is volatile and explosive to an extent, to add to his final big boom.

Mako is given the remote and… and he can’t do it.

Big, terrifying Roadhog who’s not scared of anything, who’s supposed to be emotionless, can’t press the button, can’t say goodbye, can’t let go of one of the few things he had left to love. He doesn’t flinch when Mercy’s gentle hand touches his forearm, and doesn’t resist as she reaches up further and gently presses his thumb down on the button.

Jamie’s little rocket flies away, up and off into the sky, and they wait a few minutes, until they see the bright flash of a light in the distance.

\--

He takes a long, long vacation from Overwatch the day after the funeral, and no one tries to stop him as he runs rampant across the world once again, reopening old wounds.

The one man apocalypse rides again, alone, angry, and sad. He grieves the death of one of the most important people in his life by relying on the mayhem his smaller companion would have loved to see.

He returns to Overwatch months and months later, and no one asks, no one scolds him. They welcome him back with open arms.

\--

Mako didn’t think he’d ever really get as close to the rest of Overwatch like Jamison had, but his death had brought them all so much closer. He likes to think Jamison would be proud of how far he’d come in trying to socialize.

But he has to say goodbye eventually. He gets older as the years go bye, his lungs get worse, his body begins to ache. He throws in the towel, goes off to fully retire for once, to live on a farm again, to be simple again, with his pigs, and his crops, and his books. And for old time sake, he keeps a photo album of pictures full of him and Jamison, newspaper clippings and photos of them with friends, given to him as a retirement gift from the rest of Overwatch.

He really did think life would get simpler after he settled back on a farm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, Mako's finally lost it.

Mako stared long and hard at the scarecrow. Now, it would be just a coincidence that this strange little abomination of hay and flesh that appeared in his yard just so happens to be missing the same missing bits as Jamison (all the way down to the only having four tows and the extra almost unnoticeable nub where a 6th toe used to be) or that he just so happens to be the same approximate height and weight, but Mako has this feeling someone crafted this… thing to be so similar to his ex-companion on purpose.

Mako is also certain he’s going crazy, because this things definitely didn’t move the post from facing the north end to facing the south end in the few moments he’d left it out of his sight to retrieve sheers to cut it down with, in case the knots were too tight or complex to undo properly. Mako snips the scarecrow down, throwing it over his shoulder and carrying it to the barn.

He’d deal with it tomorrow, for now he had to many chores to do in preparation for the harvest, and he really didn’t have time to focus on how to get rid of it. He’d think of something before he went to bed. He flopped it down on a pile of hay in the barn, pausing to give his pigs a few pats.

\--

Mako stared at the scarecrow blankly.

He was convinced he’d lost his mind.

Because scarecrows don’t just move themselves from laying in a pile of hay, to being draped over the door to the pig pen door in the middle of the night without someone moving it.

And Mako would sure as hell know if someone trespassed on his land.

He decides he’s going to ask Angela to do a scan on his brain, make sure he hasn’t absolutely fucking lost it.

He also decides he’s going to burn the goddamn thing first chances he gets.

\--

Mako is carrying the scarecrow over his arm again, it’s almost a familiar weight on his shoulder, he remembers carrying Jamison the same way a thousand times before. It’s… he’d forgotten how much comfort it gave him, and he hated how it weighed just enough to almost be Jamison.

He tossed it on the ground, ignoring the low grumble, taking two seconds to convince himself it was just the damn thing skidding on the ground. He takes the firewood he’d had under his other arm and stacks it up around the post he’d found the scarecrow on.

He flicks out his lighter and he pauses because… it’s been a long time since he’d heard those phantom sounds of Jamie’s excited little gasps when he saw any open flame. He takes in a deep slow breath and works on starting the fire with a few clumps of paper he’d had jammed in his pocket, and he step back to watch the flame grow, keeping a close eye on it. He’d brought the house out to here earlier that day in preparation. He nods in approval when he deems the flames big enough and he turns to the scare crow.

Yep.

It’s finally happened.

All those tears in Aussie and on the battlefield have driven him insane.

Because the fucking scarecrow is standing and staring at the fire, the stitched up mouth stretched up wider than before, the metal eyes protruding a little farther than before, zoomed in on the fire.

Mako is staring at this… THING he’s stumbled across somehow and wondering why he’s always the one who ends up in these kinds of stupidly crazy situations?

He’s convinced he’s somewhere in an asylum and the past 52 years of his life have all been a lie.

The scarecrow seems to take note that it’s being watched, because it snaps to look at him, it’s once empty eyes are glowing, little candle wick sized flames dancing behind the lenses, and it becomes more cautious, watching him closely, almost like it’s gauging his reaction.

Mako just stares a little longer, before eventually he finds his voice, and despite himself the first thing he find himself asking is “What the hell are you?” his silver brows furrow closer together. The scarecrow swallows, fiddles with it’s hands for a bit and hums.

“Mate, ya ain’t tha only one tryin’ ta figure that out, tell ya whot.” it mutters in a voice that’s painfully familiar to his ears and his eyes go wide, he opens and closes his mouth in confusion staring at-

“J-Jamie…?”

The scarecrow giggles nervously and shrugs, spreading his stitched up arms out a bit.

“Erm…. Surprise…?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some wounds need lots of time.

Mako doesn’t know exactly how long he’d been out, he doesn’t really remember passing out either, and he sure as hell didn’t know what the hell to make of anything.

How did he get in bed?

Was it all a dream?

Where was Jamie?

How the FUCK was Jamie ALIVE? AS A SCARECROW NO LESS.

Or had he finally lost it?

Mako sits up, he’s shaking a bit, and he goes to rubs his face, trying to relax himself and focus more on the condition of his farm rather than his potentially undead charge. He slowly gets out of bed, moving to the window to peer outside.

Good to see his farms still standing, the crops don’t look burnt, but he’s not able to see the entirety of the field from the window, so he can’t be entirely sure. What he can see, though, is that there is definitely a him-sized trail dragged across his front lawn. He’s beginning to feel the ache in his back, and he lifts his arms and notes that there is in fact dirt caked along the backs of them. Lovely. He turns to the rest of the room, finally noticing the bits of hay on the floor, and he sucks in a deep breath.

He hurts all over again. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of Jamison in almost two years, had hidden the old scrap book under his bed, and refused to talk about him with the others. Because despite the passage of time it never stopped hurting. He swallows, as if somehow he’d be able to quench his growing anxiety that way, and he slowly walks out his bedroom door, down the small hall, into the living room.

The trail of hay leads outside, and he doesn’t allow himself to hesitate as he steps outside. The little path of straw leads to the barn, and he pretends not to notice how his knees are getting weaker and weaker the closer he gets. He pushes the door open gently, and in the dimly lit room he feels those candle-flame eyes swivel to look at him, the lithe body crouched on the floor, gently petting one of the small piglets. Mako distinctly remembers almost calling the little runt of the lot Rat, which he had managed to talk himself out of.

They stare at eachother for awhile, and Mako breaths slowly, keeps himself calm.

“We should…talk… we need t’ have a long. Long talk.” Mako eventually forces himself to say, and the little scarecrow nods. He seems nervous, in that way that Mako got so used to reading in Jamie’s weak, rare shy moments. He’s not running his mouth a mile a minute, his fingers are clenching and unclenching around some invisible bomb he wishes he has, little twitches in the movements of his head. He turns to walk back towards the house, and he doesn’t need to turn around to know Jamie’s behind him, following him like a lost duckling, the soft rhythm of thump,clunk signifying his unsubtle companions trail.

Mako tries not to think about how he feels his shoulders relax a bit, how his legs don’t feel like jello anymore.

He tries not to think about how much he missed him.

He lowers himself into his recliner, letting out a low, content sigh. The years after Jamie’s death really had taken a tole on him, not so much so that he had to quit farming, but enough that he could feel it in his knees. Mako snorted at himself. He was getting too old, too soft. He looks up at the masked, stitched up mess in front of him, and watches as he takes a seat on the arm of the couch, as close to Mako as he could be.

And then the awkward silence settles in, there are so many questions between them, so much… guilt, and longing. Neither know how to start, what to say to make it less… awkward. Mako decides to try and speak first, because Jamie’s fidgeting is only getting worse.

“Where… how long have you been… back?” he leaned forwards a bit, pausing to find the right words. Jamie shrugs a bit, rubbing the back of his neck “Dunno, jus’ remember one day ‘m ‘n the bed, hooked up tah all them machines, ‘n tha next there’s lota… colors, ain’t sure what all of ‘em where anymore, ‘n then I’m... ‘m here, strung up ‘n yer yard.” he fumbles with his hands some more “Far as I’m aware I’ve only been a wake a few days, mate.” he shrugs a bit, still looking down, and he itches the side of his head.

“How… how longs’ it been, Mako…?” his voice trembles, cracks a bit and he turns his head away so Mako can’t see it, the masks lips turned down a bit. For a while, Mako just stares at him, and he clears his throat, wills himself to sound calm, blank, “Three years, Jamie. S’ been three years.” he mutters, whipping under his nose to hide the slight sniffle. Jamie shudders a bit and nods. Mako lets him quietly take in the information, Jamison’s struggling with this as much as he has.

“Whot ‘r we gonna do now..?” he turns to look back up at Mako, and he can almost feel the lost look on the younger Junker’s face. He fights the urge to pull him into a hug, feels to awkward, to soon, so instead he shrugs “I’m retired, ain’t gonna work no more, not in crime or in heroin’ business,” Mako tell him simply, adding softly “don’t want to either.”

He’s answered by another nod, and the thick silence falls over them again. Jamie slowly paused and looks up at Mako.

“Mate, can I ask where yer bathroom is…?”  
Mako blinks and he points down the hall “Fir’s one to the left.” he tells him gently, and he nods slowly getting up. Mako watches him go, he has this distinct feeling he’s not going off to use the bathroom. He waits a few minutes before deciding the check up on him, the door's been left open and his suspicions are confirmed as he spots Jamie in front of the bathroom mirror, sack like mask still on his face, his fingers are running across the stitches on his body.

“Surprised they found all ya bits, had a lot of power behind the blast that sent ya off.”

Mako doesn’t know what makes him say it, but he immediately regrets it, because Jamie pauses, the metal protrusions on his face zoom in and out of focus for a moment with soft mechanical whirrs, before they somehow seem to focus on him. Mako opens his mouth to apologize-

“Was it beautiful?” Jamie softly mutters. Mako blinks.

“What…?”

“Me final blast off, was it beautiful, mate?” he turns his head to properly look at Mako, instead of staring at him through the mirror. Mako stares at him for a long, long moment and then he nods.

“One of yer best ones.” he mutters.

And then Jamie’s laughing and… and Mako can’t do it, he can’t help but see sick little Jamie curled up on his chest, clinging onto life, giggling gently as he slurs out a joke that Mako can’t make sense of but he laughs anyways, just to see him smile again. He doesn’t say anything, just sucks in a deep breath and leaves. He tries not to feel anything when Jamie’s laughter cuts off, when he calls after him, confused and hurt sounding.

He settle onto his bed, closing the door behind himself and sitting on his bed.

Good god he couldn’t do this.

He cupped his face in his large hands, trembling.

He couldn’t stop seeing young little Jamie curled up on his chest, half open eyes looking up at him blankly as he gently gurgles on his own bile and blood. Couldn’t stop seeing unhinged, wild Junkrat curled up in that casket-rocket.

For the first time in two years Mako lets himself cry again, and he knows Jamie is probably confused, but Mako really can’t do this, not now, not yet, not when he was just starting to pick up the pieces.

\--

Jamie sits outside the door, head bowed as he listens to the soft little sobs through the door. He knows he shouldn’t pry or eavesdrop, but at the same time he… he doesn’t want to walk away, not yet. Because it feels like he’s been away for thousands of years, and seeing Mako again, a little older, a little sadder, it felt nice. It felt good, and right.

Felt like he’d gotten something back, and he wanted to tell Mako everything was going to be okay, because he was back now. Maybe a little raggidie and stuffed to the brim with hay and old leaves- but hey! He was alive again!

 

So… why, Jamie wondered, was Mako crying?

He picks at the floor boards with his metallic hands, and wonders who made it, it was a close model but not an exact copy of his design, same with his leg. He wonders who stitched him back together and stuffed him full of dried up plants, who put that fire in his eyes.

He’s kinda glad Mako didn’t walk down the hall quietly, because Jamie really didn’t wanna show Mako his face. Jamie didn’t wanna look at it either. His eyes had been foggy with death's touch but his pupils glowed white hot, the bottom half of his face looked like it had been entirely re attached with stitches, and his lips were sewn closed at the edges, hell even his tongue had a few stitches, his ears where ragged and torn, and his hair pale and course with dry death, and crisp with fires aftercare. He hadn’t like looking at himself like that.

He didn’t look like himself, didn’t feel like himself right now.

He felt lost and confused and completely foreign in his own body, and he knows it’s his own ‘cus he knows all his scars, all those familiar aches and pains. But at the same time everything is vaguely numb, he can only assumed dulled with death, and there are knew scars, knew aches.

He looks down at his wrist, tracing the dark outline of his veins under the surface of his skin, dark with the ugly liquid in his body, fit where the leaves and hay couldn’t go, and he knows it’s not blood, it’s oily and ugly, he knows because he’d scratched at his wrist until it bled the first night alone in that barn. He pauses and only just know realizes there are not signs of the furious, anxious scratch attack he’d inflicted upon himself.

He feel even more foreign in his own skin then he had a few seconds before, and pulls his knees up to his chest instead now. He buries his head between his knees and chest, tilted so his left ear faces upwards a bit and continues to listen to Mako cry.

He hopes things will go back to being a little closer to normal.

He wonders if they ever will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the positive feed back! This is my first Roadrat fic and I'm so glad to find the positive feed back so far!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie screams and Mako makes a vow.

Somethings in this world just kind of happen, whether we want them too or not, and Jamison really wants to believe his coming back to life was one of those instances. Because then he wouldn’t feel so confused and defiled. So he could just look at Mako and smile and tell him to forget he ever died, and that they can live together again and be happy.

But, nothing has ever just happened in young Jamison’s life, and his luck had ran out three years ago when he died. Now, now Jamison was a corpse who’d been perverted, stitched back together and reanimated, plunked down into the life of the man who’d meant most to him, presumably by a complete stranger, and for what? He didn’t know.

Just like he didn’t know how he ended up here, in the forest outside of Mako’s house, lost, paranoid, and walking wherever his foot carried him. He doesn’t remember the thought process that had brought him out here, he doesn’t remember if he left Mako still crying, or if it’d stopped. He just remembers sitting outside the door, thinking about everything, trying to make sense of it, and now he’s here.

He huffs in frustration and plops himself down on a stump. He has no idea where he is, or why he’s there. He just know he doesn’t wanna be anywhere else, not yet. He hangs his head, resting his arms on his legs, trying to forget everything, just for a little while, to pretend like everything's okay.

He won’t admit he’s terrified, and angry. He doesn’t know what he is anymore, and it scares him because he’s always had a name for himself. Angry, scary, big him was Junkrat. Shy, kind, loving him was Jamison. So… so what is not-quite-but-pretty-much dead him? What was confused, scared, lost him?

It made him angry that he didn’t know, and he wanted to curse the man-woman?- THING that had done this to him, had stolen his identity from his. He thought he’d had it all figured out, the world, Junkrat was the public man, the one everyone saw. The big scary world couldn’t hurt him. Little Jamie was Mako’s personal friend, scared of everything, constantly paranoid, and seeking comforts. But now… now everything is just so big and small, and he feels old and young all at once. Three days is not enough time to come to terms with this, and if he was clear headed he’d give himself more time to try and figure this out, to think, to turn it over in his mind and find the right answer.

But right now it’s all too much to take, it’s all too much to know what to do with, a puzzle whose pieces have been given to him and explained much too fast to understand.

And by god is he angry because of it all. He pushes his hands under the burlap sack, scrubbing at his face, careful not to catch on the stitches, and he growls angrily to himself. He feels hot with the anger, at least on the inside. The outside is still cold, and it just makes him angrier.

And he want’s to scream.

So he does.

And it’s load, and screeching, and barely even sounds human, and he thrashes, pushes himself up stomping his feet and swinging his arms, shaking his head and-and- he collapses to his knees, the metal joint clanking dangerously against the ground, and his torso curls in on itself, pulling his arms tight around himself.

If Jamison’s being honest, he didn’t even know he’d died. One moment he was staring at Mako, and he felt like he was throwing up, and he tried to smile and joke- and now he’s here. He shakily lowers the rest of his torso to the ground, curling up on his side, before rolling on his back.

The sky looks nice, so he stares at it. And stares. And stares.

And for awhile he forgets. He watches the clouds, makes up stories for the shapes he sees, gives all of his attention to the figures and colors so that he can’t even focus on anything else, because right now it’s too much. Right now, he needs to forget.

He remembers telling Mako that, one time, as he stares up at the ugly, moggy sky back in Aussie. He remembers that leather masked face looking over at him, and grunting. He remembers another time something similar happening, a few years down the line, and this time, maskless, sweet Mako who’s holding him, says all soft and with the tone of someone who knows what he’s talking about says “Sometimes, it’s good to just… forget, even for a little while.”

He’s sighs, and sits up. He doesn’t want to go back, and he doesn’t what to stay here. Not that he could find his way back anyways, once he’d noticed he’d been leaking hay earlier this morning he’d tightened all the knots on his legs and head. He looks around a bit, he doesn’t feel… drowsy, per say, but… a little more subdued, somehow. He slowly stood up, spinning in a small circle before heading off in a random direction.

Right now, he doesn’t want to think, so he doesn’t. He just walks, let’s his body do all the thinking on it’s own.

Jamie guesses his luck has changed, maybe just a bit. Not a lot, but a bit. Because some how, for once running on autopilot didn’t fuck him up, and after about an hour he comes into view of the house, he knows it’s the right one because Mako’s the only person Jamison’s ever met that would paint their entire house orange with a pink roof.

He pushes the door open, shuffles to the couch, and throws himself face first into it.

He’ll worry about everything later.

But right now, he just forgets.

And that’s okay.

\--

Mako stepped into the house, tired and aching all over. He’d gone searching for Jamison hours ago, he hadn’t been able to find a single trace of him, and he was worried, and half convinced he really had made it all up in his head.

He sighs and turns to go to his bedroom and…

Jamison’s laying on the couch, still as a corpse, the light in his eye protrusions has gone out. Unsure of what to do Mako stands there for a moment, and he remembers all those nights on the road. Really, this isn’t to much different, unnervingly wild Jamison still as the dead whilst he sleeps. Mako takes his coat off, and lays it over his reanimated charge, it’s big enough to engulf his body, softly runs a hand over his head, and walks to his own bedroom, like it’s part of his daily routine.

There’s a part of him that never forgot how to take care of Jamie, how to make him feel safe and comfortable.

Maybe things aren’t the best right now, and Mako has so, so many questions, bit for now he’ll take one step at a time. After all it’s only the first day they’ve really had the chance to interact like this.

It’s won’t be easy, he knows. Both of them are hurting and confused, and determined to get answers, but he also knows that they’ve done it before, made it through everything despite the odds, and grew closer than ever.

He lays down in his big, lonely bed, and for the first time in years, he feels how cold the bed is without Jamie beside him, feels it in his bones, and he sighs, long and slow.

He won’t drag Jamie into the bed, won’t push him to act normal again, and he knows Jamie won’t do that to him either, and it’s a small comfort to know he remembers his friend right now. Right now, a small comfort is enough.

He turns his head a bit, to look at his closet, he thinks of the unpacked box he has in there.Deep down inside, a low, angry growl whispers in his ear.

Mako promises Roadhog they’ll fuck whoever did this up, one last fight. For Jamie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't sleep so I wrote some more :0


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chores and chats.

Jamie wakes up long after Mako has, he sits by the window and watches his older companion care for his crops and animals, watches birds fly by. He watches and it is silent.

He hates it.

He hates that Mako isn’t stoic and cold, hidden behind a mask, he hates that he pauses once or twice to crack his back, and to sigh. He hates how calm and quiet everything is. Because it leaves him to his thoughts and he really, really doesn’t wanna think about much anything, yet.

After about an hour or so he has enough and hops outside to join him.

“Maaaakoooo, Mako, Mako, Mako!” he hops over, smiling as he hears the familiar sigh, that little head shake and tiny smile as he turns to look at Jamie. He looks tired and sad still, but at least he’s able to look at Jamie, today anyways. He smiles and swings his arms, trying to exhaust some of his energy, “’M bored.” he tells him simply. It’s enough of an explanation for Mako, and he rolls his eyes.

“Alright, then... “ he rubs his large hands together and thinks for a bit, scratching the slowly growing stubble on his chin, looking around. He shrugs a bit “Guess you could help with me mornin’ chores.” he mumbles, motioning for the small, lithe man to follow. He leads him to the shed first and grabs a few tools, handing them to Jamie “Been needin’ to fix the perimeter for the past month ‘r so.” he explains a bit, leading him outside “I need ya to just patch her up as best as ye can tell I can get more supplies.” He explains. It feels.. Weird to be the one talking the most, and Jamie nods in determination. He goes to ruffle his hair, but he tenses as soon as his hand rests on the hay mess on his head, and he pulls his hand away after an awkward silence, and he turns to walks towards the barn “If ye need me i’ll either be in the barn or the field. I’ll call ye inside when it’s lunch,” another pause “You know if ya need to eat..? Or is this... “ he motioned at Jamie, not sure how to finish the question. Jamie just shrugs, “I don’ feel hungry, mate. But, we’ll jus’ wait and see, ya?” Mako nods and returns to his barn.

Jamie spends a good few hours crawling around, inspecting damage and fixing up what he could. From what he can see, it looks like someone had knocked the fence in with a car, and he scowls a little bit at the thought. Who would want to ruin Mako’s farm? It’s not like Mako’s ever hurt them personally. Jamies pauses to think about that and decides it is, actually, entirely possible that he and Mako may have affected them personally when there crime spree had been at it’s peak. It’s not like Mako’s name is too much of a secret, really. Just that no one ever called him that on all those shows, just like no one ever called him Jamison. He likes to think it was because all those fancy suits were too scared to properly humanize them. Not that it bothers him, anyways. He preferred Junkrat to be the renown name, just like Mako used to prefer Roadhog.

He turns to walk further down the fence line, and pauses when his arm meets some resistance, he frowns and turns his head and-

During his distracted thinking he’d nailed his hand to the fucking post somehow. He stares at it, blinks a couple times, and wiggles his fingers. Still mobile. He giggles at himself a bit, and works on removing the nail. There’s a small hole through his hand, a bit of black oil oozing down the back of his hand, but other than that he’s fine. It’s a little tingly, but he didn’t feel much of it. He’s a little off put by that thought, but at the same time he finds himself not caring too much right now. Maybe he’s still just a little to numb to all of what’s happening, still in a little denial, still feeling foreign in his bones, or maybe he’s coming to terms with at least one part of all this. He’s really not quite sure yet.

He shrugs, and turns to walk down the fence, enjoying the distant sounds of birds, and he can hear a small crick somewhere. He’d like to blow it up, just a little bit, ruin some the serenity and add that chaotic Junker touch to it. He’s also aware Mako would probably stuff him in the fireplace if he did that, not that he could anyways, with his lack of bombs.

He manages to get the rest of the fence secured to the best of his extent, he catches sight of Mako, crouched on the ground, inspecting plants. He skips over, his older, larger companion turning to look at him. He’s got a bit of dirt on his cheeks and hands, and he offers a bit of a smile, it always looked a little silly from him, Jamie thinks, especially with the large scar on the left side of his face, obscuring the movement of his eyebrow, always making one half of his face look a little flatter.

“Was jus’ about to go lookin’ for you, gonna start lunch in a few minutes.” he stands up, popping his back yet again, groaning with relief. Jamie nods a bit and fallows Mako towards the house, and bites the inside of his stitched lip for a moment, contemplating for a second.

“Say Mako, mate, best buddy, ol’ pal o’ mine, I don’ mean t’ intrude but… well, I jus’ gotta ask… tha fuck ‘appned to yer fence in the firs’ place?” he questions, rubbing the back of his hand. Mako hadn’t seemed to notice yet, and was already walking ahead of him anyways. He shrugs a bit “Jus’ some of the local kids fockin’ with my shit, ‘s jus’ the way some thing are. I personally think they think they’re provin’ somethin’ by fockin’ with the old ex-convict.” he mutters, walking inside. Jamie hums a bit and frowns “If it was me-”

“If it wus you they’d be fuckin’ dead.” Mako states bluntly. Jamie bursts into giggles, and nods, because it’s true. Mako rolls his eyes, still smiling a bit and moves to pat his head again, deciding to abort halfway there and turns around instead “Speakin’ of yer old habits, I want yer to know that ‘f anythin’ at all end up blown t’ bits on this farm, I swear t’ god Jamison Fawkes.” He doesn’t need to say more, the threat is clear in his voice, and Jamie giggles again, crossing his heart with his right hand.

“I’ll be on me best behavior.” he promises, a familiar old line that has Mako giving an exasperated sigh, lumbering off into the kitchen. Jamie watches him go before heading off towards the bathroom, deciding to take care of his hand, starting of with running it under water first. He makes a note that it’s already half the size it was before, and he wraps it up in some bandages and calls it a day before heading back into the living room.

The meal smells familiar, a soup Mako used to make all the time on the road, but perfected in civilization, Jamie isn’t sure what’s all in it, but he knows he’ll like it anyways. He always has. He happily sits himself at the table, wiggles around in his seat a bit, and then it strikes him.

He’ll have to take the sack off to eat.

He would laugh at the sudden role reversal, remembering how Mako had been so reluctant to remove his mask at first, but honestly he’s terrified of the idea. He’s not ready to face what Mako might think, and really he doesn’t want to risk taking it off only to discover food might be completely poisonous to him in this state, it’d be a damn waste.

Mako places the bowl in front of him, it smells and looks so good, and Jamie looks up at the other, at a loss for words. Mako stares at him for a moment and nods a bit, he seems to get the idea, even without the passage of words. He’s been in the same place before, so he nods towards the living room “I’ll be there is ye need me.” he states simply and leaves Jamie be. He feels a little bad for chasing Mako out of his own kitchen, but Jamie is grateful at how… calm Mako’s been this whole time.

He pulls the mask up and allows himself to take a spoonful of soup.

And it’s as marvelous as he remembered it being. It’s warm on his tongue, and it burns a little, but it’s perfect, absolutely amazing, and he enjoys the little tingle of pain a bit, enjoys that he can actually feel it. He drinks from the bowl like it’s a giant mug, guzzles it down gratefully, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this until now. He doesn’t really feel hungry or full, but he feels warmer than before, happier, a little more content.

He sighs happily, and gently places his bowl in the sink, pleased with the nice meal. He hesitates for a moment before grabbing the burlap sack, softly running his fingers against the fabric, staring at it long and hard before he slides it back on, tightening the knot on the hair, another moment of roll reversal.

He want’s this warm feeling to last forever, but he knows it won’t.

It ends sooner than he’d wanted it too, when he hears loud music blasting down Mako’s dirt road somewhere and he scrunches his face in confusion and peers out the kitchen window, and he sees a truck riding down the road, teenagers piled up in it, hooting and hollering loudly, leaning out the windows, chucking beer cans from the back, and he watches as one of them leans out with a bat and bashes Mako’s mail box.

Oh those bitches are gonna pay.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie has a horror movie moment.

Jamison’s favorite moment about the battle is that moment when the adrenaline starts, the world just kind of slows down, everything becomes sharper, and he feels like he can do anything, it’s that moment when rationality is thrown out the window and the mayhem rushes into his blood, when the rage and that manic glee floods his very being. It’s the moments when Jamie feels like he could do just about anything.

He’s pulling himself up over Mako’s sink and through the window, and everything it hot with fire, it doesn’t really register with him that he is actually on fire, the hay bits crackling, the smoke spewing from his stitches, his metal joints hot to the touch, the light behind the lenses of the burlap sack brighter than ever. All he sees are those fucking punks, everything drawn down to his one target, the glee he feels as he watches there cocky smiles fade and as horror slowly settles in as this demonic, flaming figure begins to run at their car, which has swerved and nearly crashed into a tree.

All Jamie can hear is there screaming, the screeching of tires, he knows he’s laughing, because it’s just too priceless, watching those cocky little shits turn to run with there tails between there legs. The truck is swerving to much to really pick up speed, and Jamie takes the opportunity to slam into it, screeching and cackling, there’s fire in his voice, the roar and the crackle, and someone screams as the fire licks at there arms, falling out the truck to stop drop and roll. The kid from before swings out the window to bash Jamie in the face with the bat, and it send him reeling, everything is obscured by broken and cracked glass, and he hisses angrily, twisting on the ground to stand himself back up.

The truck barrels into him, having apparently taken a quick U turn, and maybe if he’d been alive it would of hurt like a son of a bitch, but here it only manages to make him angrier.

The teens watch in horror as the best pushes itself up, joints popping into place, neck cracking as it realigns, broken bones pushing into place, and the fire filled burlap mouth smiles sickeningly.

Mako’s rushing outside as soon as the screams had started, gun in hand, and he had to pause, to watch the scene unfold in front of him. He knows Jamie will kill them if he doesn’t step in, but he can’t seem to move. It’s not that he’s scared, he more… mesmerized, watching his tiny charge put himself back together in seconds, and he blinks to reality just in time to watch the flames rage higher as Jamie cackles and howls at them, bouncing back and forth from peg to foot, holding his arms out as the truck rushes towards him again, the beer can’s being thrown doing nothing but feed the fires.

Mako rushes forwards, his old, slightly rusted machete in hand, and pulls his arm back and throws, watching it hit his target dead on, all those years of chain throwing coming in handy.

Jamie goes flying into the roadside ditch, the kids rushing back down the road, screaming something back at him as he rushes to check on Jamie. He kneels on the side of the road, wheezing, bringing his shirt up to cover his mouth his mouth from the smoke. He’d managed to hit Jamie in the head with the blunt end, he’s laying at the bottom of the ditch, still, the only signs of the fire currently being the smoke and burning embers left of the hay and the frayed edges on the top of the mask. He sighs a bit and carefully picks him up, hissing as the hot metal bits dig into his arms and chest, and he carries him inside, gently placing him in the tub, to avoid setting something on fire by accident. He then proceeds to rush to his room, digging through his drawers frantically, trying to remember where he kept his inhaler, he’s been wheezing since the smoke had started filling his lung, and he quickly takes a hit from his inhaler once he finds it. He sighs in relief and slumps a bit as he sits on his shoulder.

Jesus fucking christ, was that a show and a half. Nothing as spectacular as riding off into the night as fire rages at your back, booms shaking the ground and laughter squealing through the night. But after three years of the most exciting thing being occasionally having to chase off a wild animal a show like that, all fire and chaos, it brings back a lot of memories, a lot of feeling Mako’s worked so hard to throw away, wakes up a part of him he’s been trying desperately to kill.

He takes in a slow breath, rubbing his face. He refuses to allow that to happen again, to lose himself to all those easy impulses, to those psychopathic tendencies he’d allowed himself to develope, to part of him that just wanted, needed, to wring someone’s neck, to laugh at murder shows like they were comedic, and smile when blood obscures his vision in red through old, scratchy lenses. Where people were intimidated by the mere mutter of his name, where he was able to stare down the bravest of men with his leather mask, where he could just go Hog Wild and ruin everything.

Mako swallows heavily, holding back the trembles as best as he can. Jamie was good for Mako, but what he saw today was not Jamie. That, that was Junkrat, and Junkrat is anything but good for Mako. Junkrat brings out big bad Roadhog who almost, almost, made him wreck that truck. Junkrat is good for Roadhog, lets him satiate his sickest desires, lets him be angry and crazy and loves him for it, but Junkrat is never good for Mako.

He reaches for the book on his bedside table, trying to forget what he’s thinking about right now to distract himself until he’s able to shove away his past desires. He’s done being Roadhog, and yes, he does plan on hurting the person who fucked Jamie up, he’s not ready to fully become him again. To put himself six feet under and let the One man Apocalypse back ount into the world.

He’s never going to let himself be Roadhog ever again.

And he’s going to try and work the Junkrat out of Jamison. It’s for their own good. It’s better if the other parts of them aren’t there anymore. It’s better if they leave the past where it belong, in the past.

It’s better if he let’s himself forget all of that, forgets how fun it felt, how good it felt, to hear the sound of chains digging into flesh, to watch mighty men fall to their knees before him. Because that’s not who he is anymore, not Roadhog the enforcer, not Roadhog the bodyguard, and certainly not Roadhog the short-time hero. 

He’s Mako.

Mako Rutledge, the one time freedom fighter, the simple farmer. Maybe he’s not quite the same, a little more bitter, a little colder, but he’s still simple Mako who want’s to do nothing more than take care of his land and his animals and his home. He’s simple old Mako who just wants everything to settle down, and to finally once again find peace, in his home and head.

He manages to get a good hour or so of reading before he feels the storm settle down a bit, feels a little more like himself and a little less like he used to be.

It won’t be easy driving the Junkrat out of Jamison, because Jamie’s more Junkrat, grew up developing that side of himself, grew up perfecting the insanity and chaos and mayhem in that crazy little body of his. Junkrat is and anchor to Jamie, something essential for survival.

Mako likes to think, that at least for now, Jamie’s a little more prominent, and maybe it’ll stay that way if he plays his cards right. He’s made it very clear he doesn’t want to go back to the life of crime, and that he doesn’t want all that excitement. He just wants to retire, life a simple life until he dies.

But things won’t be simple until he figures this all out, figures out who defiled Jamie, and… deal with all of this. He half doesn’t really want to deal with the issue, because then Jamie might end up dead again, and Mako doesn’t want to say goodbye a second time.

Mako doesn’t think he could survive making it a second time.

He lets out another long sigh and tiredly rubs his face.He’ll fix all this eventually, he tells himself.

Right now he’ll just take things as they come. It’s all he can really do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so pleased everyone is enjoying this so far! Thank you for all your wonderful feed back so far, it means a lot!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mako visits with a friend from Overwatch.

Mako is the kind of man everyone in town just kind of knows, he sticks out like a sore thumb, always has always will, he’s the kind guy that everyone knows about his past, what he’s done, what he’s capable of. Usually he leaves store clerks shaking, looking ready to faint, and is given a wide girth in public places, and it doesn’t bother him much but it makes some things hard.

Like trying to do research on black magic whilst not drawing suspicion and knowing full well the local newspaper is talking about the attack on those idiot boys that happened a few days ago.

Not that Mako really cares if they think he’s some kind of warlock or something, just means he’s more likely to be left alone. Which is all he really wants most days anyways. Mako’s flipping through pages in some other book on black magic and it’s forms, trying to find anything on reanimating the dead as weird fucked up flaming scarecrow people. And how to fix them.

Jamie’s been out since the attack, Mako’s done everything he could think of, replaced the burnt hay, a hard process without removing the mask, but he respected Jamie’s privacy and managed it, oiled up his limbs, managed to get food down his gullet, again a hard task with an unconscious man in a mask. But nothing had worked, and Mako was worried Jamie may have conked himself out for good again, but he also remembers being told about mana a very very long time ago, about it’s uses and how it keeps all living and magical beings alive and ticking, like and energy source for the soul. Mana is used in magic, and using too much mana could have dire consequences, a magical hangover of sorts, the more mana you use the longer the recharge period. Mako doesn’t remember where he’d heard all that, or why he remembered it really, but he wished they’d mentioned something about the undead. Or maybe they had and he’d tuned them out by then.

He closes the book and grabs another one, growing quickly frustrated, he really just wants to get this done and get home before Jamie wakes up. He’s not opposed to the idea of being able to find his resurrection through some means of estranged voodoo either, he’d searched the area he’d found Jamie in for hours and found nothing. He hoped Jamie maybe remembered more, he really doesn’t like the idea of waiting around and doing nothing whilst this prick runs around bringing dead people back. Especially when it involves defiling parts of those peoples last wishes.

He reaches for another book when he hears someone clear their throat and he growls a bit, letting them know he’s not pleased by the interruption, and he turns his gaze towards the owner of the sound. His eyes go wide as he’s met face to face with none other than Ana Amari, still in a cloak of sorts, but without a gun or vials, looking rather amused at seeing him holding books that contain information he’d longed denied had any ground existing.

“Just catching up on some light reading, Rutledge?” she teases, ever the woman of sass despite her age. Mako blinks and huffs a bit, putting the book he’d had in grasp back, “Ain’t nothin’ you need to know about.” it’s a huge lie, really, he’d never even thought about mentioning Jamie to the others. Shit he was in deep. He shakes his head a bit and puts his meaty hand on his own hips, “What are you doin’ here anyway? Wasn’t expectin’ ya in town.” he makes it sound more like an accusation, like she’s invading his privacy.

She rolls her eyes, and he can practically hear her thinking ‘Classic grumpy old Rutledge,’ and somehow he’s almost offended. She then offers a kind, slightly lopsided smile, and a gentle shrug, “No one’s heard from you for a while, started to worry you’d finally hit the end of your road. Just came for a visit,” she states, before adding “Besides, Mercy is worried about your health, as she always is with all of us. You left us in a pretty bad state, mind you, and last time she saw you it seemed like you were going to croak it at any moment.” she reminds him. He remembers that time, being ill with the flu, suffering from asthma, and running on 2 hours of sleep nightly had really fucked with him that year. He grunts “‘M fine, ain’t a kid needin’ to be looked after.” he crosses his arms, to an outsider he’d look completely pissed with his low set brows, but his companions knew better than that, he was content, a little amused maybe.

“Never said you were,” Ana points out to him, and he hums a bit. She’s still smiling, unperturbed by his cold exterior. He still struggles to show proper emotions in public, but she’d spent a while working with him, and Jamie had helped them read his body language a lot long before he’d ever gotten ill.

“Why don’t we go for some tea? I’m sure you’re…” she reached up to grab one of the books he’d had in hand “ Demon’s Hand Guide can wait.” he sighs, because it really can’t, and he can’t tell her that, he’d have to explain this all to her and he really doesn’t want to, doesn’t feel right involving other people in this… predicament. So he reluctantly nods, and quickly adds “We can head t’ the local cafe, house ‘s a bit of a mess right now.” she raises a brow and shrugs softly “What ever suits you is fine by me. Just like to talk with an old friend again.”

With that they leave the library together, heading to the local coffee shop where Mako orders the sweetest sounding thing on the menu, and Ana just gets a normal moka, after getting their drinks they finds a seat to settle in and happily get comfortable, a hard task for a man as big as Mako in an averaged sized world, but he manages.

“So, Mako,” she says his name gently, in that way a concerned mother might, “how have things been?” he knows she’s asking about his mental state, last time they’d properly sat down and talked Mako had still been suffering from nightmares of that pale body staring up at him. He pretends not to know that, though, and shrugs “‘S been good, been gettin’ a lota work done. Damn kids ‘r still fockin with my property, though.” Ana gently pats his arm in returns, muttering something like “Kids these days, no respect for their elders” under her breath, Mako doesn’t know if he should be offended that she called him old, or praised that she saw him as an elder to be respected by the younger peoples of the community. He settles for content neutrality, and takes a sip of coffee “How’s thing been with you and all them back ‘n base?” he’s genuinely curious, he knows he should find time to drop by.

He’ll do that after he deals with Jamie.

Ana shrugs and smiles a bit, “I’ve been doing good, Talon’s forces are dropping day by day, and I know we’re so close to finally winning this war. It’d be nice to have you back at our side for the final battle, but I won’t force you to join us if you don’t want to. I respect you decision to retire, and I’m a bit jealous you’ve been able to settle so well,” she smiles, all kindness, “Fareeha’s been good to, she’s been getting better and better in her field tactics, she’s made me so proud, to stay this strong after all we’ve seen.” she takes a sip, and adds “The other’s miss you, especially Reinhardt. He misses his drinking buddy, the only man who could keep up with him. You two should visit more, hit a local pub or something.” she suggests, nudging his hand softly. Mako know’s she’s right, him and Reinhardt got along really well, and he would, in fact, count him as a friend. He’s never really been good about keeping in touch, though, and he winces a bit realizing it has been well over a year since he and the elder man.

He nods a bit in agreement, adding a quick “I’ll keep that ‘n mind,” smiling slightly. She nods as well, sipping her moka. They talk about this and that, just little topics of conversation that don’t really mean a lot, occasionally throwing out information they think might be important to the other, i.e: Mako’s asthma has improved a bit, at least seems like it has, or how Genji’s training has been coming along great, and everyday he’s becoming a better fighter. Little simple things they feel are a good idea to share.

Mako didn’t realize how much he missed hearing about them, but it feels nice to know they’re all safe and sound, a few close calls along the way, but Mercy is amazing at her job and always helps them pull through. He likes knowing that he won’t have to attend any funerals anytime soon.

After they share a nice coffee date Mako sees Ana off, returning the the library so she can find her mode of transport and head on back home, with good news to the rest of Overwatch and a gentle motherly scold reminding him to call at some point, to come visit and get extremely drunk with Reinhardt, which causes him to shake his head and laugh fondly. He waves as she drives off, and waits tell she’s out of sight before sighing, letting himself slump a bit.

This was an absolute mess, he couldn’t do anything until he dealt with Jamie, not only in waking him up but in fixing the entire problem. He didn’t know what the others would do if they found out about him, and the rational part of his brain tells them they could help, but the part of his brain that’s paranoid and always alert tells him they’ll only make it worse. He couldn’t just leave Jamie behind either, if he did end up going anywhere, Jamie wouldn’t be able to stay in one place on his own for the days long trip it would take.

He turns back home, deciding he can go searching for more information online, see if he gets lucky and somehow convinces people he’s not crazy and really does have an undead scarecrow that he needs to take care of and wake up already. He chuckles at himself, yeah, he has to be crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a side note: I make this all up on the spot, and the story is really just kind of writing it's self, so I'm learning just as much as you are in every chapter. This is because if I think ahead I'll get to excited and won't be able to get a good proper story line in, so everything here is improve, this was supposed to be just a sad one shot about Mako loosing Jamie, and then all of a sudden my brain went "Mako retires to a farm? How about some of that scare crow boy."
> 
> I just felt I might tell you this, just to give some history.
> 
> (Im sorry if this is so random, im kinda ill today -v- A lil loopy)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie wakes up and the world gets more confusing.

Jamison woke up five days after the attack, though it was a relief it was also a little terrifying, hearing the loud thrashing, the gasp of life returning to a long dead corpse, Mako had been brushing his teeth, trying to ignore the limp figure in his tube when it’d happened. He nearly fell flat on his ass in surprise when the scarecrow slumped, heaving, the lenses on his burlap face darting around, bright with those little candle flicker lights. He spots Mako and he slowly relaxes, sighing gently to himself. Mako takes a moment to catch his breath as well, still watching him closely out of the corner of his eyes.

“How long was I out, mate?” Jamie mumbles, a little slow and dreary sounding, gently rubbing his head with his flesh hand, and Mako grunts a bit “ ‘Bout five days. Was worried you’d…” he shook his head, “Don’t really know what happened, don’t know if it was somthin’ I did or… somthin’ you did when you attacked those kids.”

Jamie sits up, as if just remembering those kids “Did I get ‘em? Those little shoit’s better not still be comin’ round!” Mako pushes him down gently, another pang of familiarity in the simple motion, and he shakes his head “Don’t. They’re gone now, jus’... don’ go gettin’ yer self riled up again.” he shakes his head “Ye can’t do shoit like that again, I know things were diffrent before ye died, but I ain’t jus’ gonna sit by and watch ye kill people.” he paused, looking at his reflection grimly, “I ain’t Roadhog anymore, I don’t… I don’t condone murder.”  
“Murder? Fockin murder? They was fockin wither your shit! You woulda- woulda focking shot ‘em to bits back in Junktown-!”

“THIS AIN’T JUNKER TOWN! This ain’t Aussie! This ain’t the fockin’ apocalypse, or Overwatch! It’s my home, it’s civilization, and I ain’t…. I ain’t like that anymore.”

“... Hog-”

“ ’S Mako. I’m not Roadhog anymore. I don’t want t’ be Roadhog anymore.” he looked over to his undead charge, keeping his face stern, cold, and set in stone. He can feel the confusion, the slight hint of terror, in his gaze.

“I get ye said ye didn’t wanna be a hero no more, or a… whatever we was, but… but I mean you’ll always be my Hoggie won’t ye? You’ve always been me Hoggie-”

Mako shakes his head and sighs “It’s been years Jamie. Roadhog is dead. ‘S just me in my focked up head, and I intend t’ keep it that way.” Jamie looks down at his lap, falling completely silent. Mako sighs and slowly leaves the room. He really doesn’t want to argue more, especially not about Junktown and the past.

\--

Jamie felt so lost. It felt like just a few days ago he and Mako laughed together at a plume of smoke rising over the horizon, but now… now this man he was with wasn’t the Mako he knew, not exactly. His Mako would have been proud of him, his Mako would have helped him kill those kids. He felt the panic rising up in his throat like thick, congealed bile, that quickly becoming familiar sense of being lost, confused, and foreign rushing into his brain.

Why couldn’t things just go back to normal, like they were supposed to be. Why couldn’t things just make sense again. Why couldn’t this just be some fucked up dream? Maybe it was. When would it end, then? Why won’t it end yet?

He pushed his hands against the burlap covering his face, trembling as the pressure felt little more than annoying tingle, trying to stifle the panicked sobs and gasps trying to fight their way out of him.

He curls up tight in the white bathtube, trying to shrink away from the world, away from this hellish reality that made no sense, where everything he ever knew was turned upside down and thrown out the window.

He would give anything to have his Mako back, anything at all. Anything but this to close to the Mako he knew, but not close enough, impostor. He’d give anything to have his life back, the way it was supposed to be, alive and watching the world crumble.

He’d give anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of an update than anything else, but i'd like to let you guys know this story is not abandoned, but instead I'm trying to clarify the story in a second story here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12168390/chapters/27618582  
> (note, it's all just back story and such leading up to the man plot at the current time)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stress, screaming, and an important question.

It was about five days after he woke up when the weird thrumming in his head set in. It was like Jamie could feel his heartbeat in his skull, like a bad migraine but without the pain. It felt weird, and honestly he didn’t like it, made him feel weirdly dizzy and distracted.

It didn’t help tensions were still extraordinarily high between himself and Mako, there latest fight still bouncing around in his skull. It was hard to believe, to process, the fact that Mako was done, retired, once and for all. No more crimes, no more late nights driving in the dessert.

If his tear ducts weren’t so dry he’d have track in the burlap sack on his face, and though he could sob he couldn’t cry, another frustrating fact to add onto the list of things that changed. He hated it, hated change, never really did learn how to deal with lifestyle changes very well. It doesn’t help that a mere month ago, in his memory, Hoggy had been holding him in his massive arms, leather Mask gently to his temple as he comforted him, and yet three years had passed, years were he was just gone, no longer existing in the world around him. Three years were Hog grieved, moved on, changed.

Honestly he doesn’t even care anymore if he gets to enact his plan to fuck with the queen, all he wants right now, these past few days, is to be held again, to have Mako at least try and pretend there relationship never changed. Sure, the never defined what they were, but they were so much more than friends, so much more that partners. Partners don’t hold you in there arms as you hack up blood, stroke your hair, tell you everything's going to be okay and kiss your forehead. Friends don’t hold you close at night, keeping you warm with there own body heat, not unless your extremely close. Not that they weren’t extremely close. Yet, Mako acts like they had never been that close. Yes, Jamie can see a part of him is relaxed, content to have him back, but that is outweighed by the tension between them.

Before, when he first met Hog, the distance made sense, they didn’t know each other, and were they resided one could not, and should not, easily trust another person with getting close. But now isn’t then. They did grow close, they spent years together, learned each others stories, shared secrets no other human alive new about them. Now, though, now the distance hurts, Mako acts like they barely even knew each other, like he hadn’t been there those long, endless, nights in the hospital were Jamie cried in fear at the prospect of death and hell. Like he wasn’t there every time his stumps hurt, like he didn't make the pain go away. Like they never even shared a single happy memory together. He understands the big guy puts space between himself and most things, and he understands that he already left him once, but he’s back now. He shouldn’t be, but he is.

It’s not fair.

No, it’s not fair Mako gets to wallow in his pit of self sorrow, he had time to deal with things, had time to realize Jamie was gone, and yet the fact that he was dead for years was still sinking into his bones. It’s not fair that Mako thinks he can act like this even though he’s had time, act like he’s the only one who’s torn up about this whole thing. It’s not bloody fucking fair. The urge to scream is growing in his chest everyday, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to fight it for much longer. He knows any minute now he’ll snap, something will destroy his resolve and he’ll lose it, go off on Hog, shout everything he’s been feeling. But, until then he festers in silent resentment.

Not in all his years knowing the big guy did he think he would ever feel emotions like this towards him, and he clenches his jaw in frustration as that stupid feeling of “another new thing to add to the list” tumbles through his skull.

He’s been helping Mako around the farm, and it does help, distract him for a small while from all those nasty angry thoughts, but at the same time it’s torture, because eventually, much to quick, the distraction isn’t enough and other, angry, hateful thoughts thrum around in his head and he hates it.

He feels exhausted, though he’s in no way tired, he feels like the prospect of life and death is finally becoming real for him, much to late considering he is a corpse.

The lithe, stitched up form of Jamie sighs as he melts into one of the chairs in Mako’s question, mask in his hand as his arms limp against his side. Taking the sack off helps, somehow, when he’s alone, dulls the weird pulse in his head, makes it feel like he can breath clearer, makes it feel like he isn’t stuffed into some tiny corner his thoughts can trap him in. He closes his eyes, tongue lazily tracing the stitches from the corners of his mouth that extend into his cheeks. He drifts into that sleep like state, which looks more like death on the outside, his body stills, his breathing stops, and he seems lifeless once again. 

\--

Mako lumbers inside, tired with heavy feet. He’s been working hard to repair the damage from Jamie’s outburst, as well as sprucing up some other parts of the farm that have been needing an upgrade for years. He sighs to himself, rubbing one of his large, calloused, hands over his face. He lumbers into the kitchen, with all the intents of making something to eat, sitting down and relaxing before heading back to work. He lumbers into the kitchen, and for a moment it doesn’t register with him that Jamison’s on the chair, he walks straight past before he pauses, shakes his head in bewilderment and looks back down at the sloped form on the chair.

He feels cold, sick even, as his eyes go wide. The stitches on the rest of his body had been unpleasant to have view of, but the mangled form of his face it… it tore something in Mako’s heart, made him feel so… upset. Jamie was a kid, never even made it to his thirties, and yet he had to go through this. Through death, through… whatever this abomination of reliving was.

Jamie’s eyes shoot open and he sits upright, the movement catching him off guard, catching sight of Mako, who can’t look away from those dead eyes, whose glowing pupils seem to burn holes into his own. They grow more intense, those thick eyebrows sinking down when he realizes Mako is staring at him, in all his glory, with no sack over his face.

“Whot the fukc are ye doin’?”

 

“Was gonna make lunch…”

“Thought ye’d get a nice peak whilst ye were at it?”

“No! I didn’t… I didn’t even realize you had it off-”

“Well Mako, what do ye think huh? Fucking ugly mug ain’t she?” Jamie stands up, trying to be imposing despite being much smaller, and much more frail, than Mako. His pupils seem to only grow brighter, eyes flickering over the larger man.

“Jamie stop, I get ye didn’t wan’t me t’ see, wasn’t like I did it on purpose-”

“SO THA’ JUS’ MAKES IT OKAY, EH?! I DIDN’T MEAN T’ DO IT ON PURPOSE, EH??”

“Jamie yer overreacting-”

“ATLEAST I’M FOCKING TRYING TO MAKE THINGS NORMAL UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE!” He snaps back, stomping up to him, stitches stretching and squashing as his face twists into a snarl. Mako’s own brows go low, lips turning down.

“Things aint normal any more-”

“Like I don’t fockin’ know tha’!”

“LE' ME FINISH DAMN IT!” Mako boomed, pushing Jamie back and out of his face, getting frustrated with the smaller man. He sighs loudly before shaking it head, “Ya died, and I was there when it ‘appned. Ya don’t just get over shit like tha’, even if ya want too. Ya were in my arms. For a long time I felt like I failed ya as a bodyguard, and it’s hard trying to process yer back, for fucks sake ‘m still pretty sure I’ve gone fockin crazy. So I’m sorry if things ain’t exactly the same as they used t' be, and I’m sorry I don’ wanna do all tha’ crazy bullshit anymore. I’m old, Jamie, I’m in me focking fifties for christs sake!” He made a motion with his hand at his own chest “Not t’ mention I’ve never been ‘n the bes’ health. Retiring was the bes’ way t’ keep myself alive fer just a little longer.” He took in a deep breath, glancing the blond over. His foggy eyes glance around and the frustration only seems to grow instead of ease.

“Ye had time t’ deal with all o’ this, mate… I.. It ain’ been years fer me… it’s… it’s been maybe a month? Ye got t’ realize I was gone, gotta mourn me, y’know? I never even realized I’d died..and it aint fair that yer actin’ like this, like none o' it ever 'appened. Like ye never knew me! I jus' wan’ things t’ be normal!”

“They ain’ gonna be normal, Jamie… not fer a while. Ya don' jus'… jus’ watch someone die, spen' three years missin’ them, mournin’ them, an’ then… an' then they suddenly come back. We both need time, an’ I think we both need to to recognize that. Yer righ’ I have been a little self centered about this… I haven’t been thinkin’ ‘bout how hard this is fer you.”

Jamie looks down at his fingers again and sniffles a bit, pulling the sack back over his head before nodding slowly. He takes a deep shaky breath before he speaks again, quiet and hesitant.

“Mako…?”

“Yeah, Jamie…?”

“What am I t’ ye, anyway?” he mumbles head turned down to avoid all eye contact. Mako gently touched his shoulder, causing his head to turn up just the slightest bit. He smiles gently, a little tired, a little stressed, but a smile nonetheless, and he rumbles softly in response.

“The bes’ part o’ my life.”

Mako pulls Jamie into a hug as he sobs.


End file.
